Wishful Thinking

Wishful Thinking

Wishful Thinking A Hair Fantasy by Ian White

For many years now, I have had an overwhelming desire to walk into a barbershop, and have a buzzcut. The problem though, is that I find it easy to think about doing something, but hard to go through with it, especially when it comes to my hair. You see I have always hated having my hair cut, and that is why I often just let it grow, but the urge has always been there to take the plunge, and lose my hair to the clippers, something that seems quite unthinkable when you bear in mind that I have had a fear of those very same clippers since I was a little boy. I have tried many times to accomplish my desire, but the trouble with me is, that every time I get sat in the barber’s chair, I lose my nerve, and end up asking for just a trim instead. That was until today, when having fully convinced myself that this is what I really needed to do, both to overcome my fear, and to satisfy my desire, I finally plucked up the courage to go ahead with it.

I woke up really early this morning, after a sleepless night thinking about my new haircut, and although I knew exactly what I wanted, I couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive. My hair was the longest it had ever been, and it suited me that way, and as I looked in the bathroom mirror, and ran my fingers through my thick, dark hair, I found it hard to imagine what I would look like without it, but I knew that I wouldn’t have long to wait to find out. So putting that thought behind me, I took a long soak in the bath, and washed my hair. After about an hour, I got out of the bath, dried myself off, had a shave, and combed my hair into its usual style for the last time, before getting dressed. It was a lovely, bright, warm day and, looking at all the clothes in the wardrobe, I decided to wear something smart, but very casual. As I stood looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror in the bedroom, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had made the right decision. After all, I looked really good in my jeans and a tee-shirt, with my longish hair framing my heart-shaped face. As always, the doubts were starting to creep back into my head, and all those questions that I couldn’t find an answer to, like, how would it look? Would it suit me that short? Did I have the right shaped head? What if I didn’t like it? It seemed to be the same old story, every time I thought about taking the plunge, I could think of too many reasons not to do it, and that was the problem. Although the thought of the clippers running over my head was a real turn-on, the fear of losing my hair was not, but this time there was no going back, although I was feeling very nervous, I knew that I had to go through with it no matter what the outcome was, because if I didn’t, then the chances were that I never would.

It was about 9 o’clock when I finished getting ready and, picking up my keys, I walked out onto the driveway, closing the front door behind me. As I got in my car, I was feeling fairly relaxed, but that didn’t last for long, as the closer I got to town, the more I was thinking about my haircut. I tried to calm my nerves by listening to one of my favourite cassette tapes, but I couldn’t really concentrate on the music, as my head was already too full of other, more important things, namely my impending appointment with the barber. The traffic was very heavy for a Thursday morning, and it wasn’t easy concentrating on the road and all the other vehicles, but somehow I did, and eventually got into town around 9.30 a.m. It was fairly busy, so I had to park in one of the many side streets off the Market Place. By pure coincidence, I managed to find a parking space opposite a small barbershop called The Old Barber’s Shop. Its brightly painted front really stood out among the other shops, and there was no mistaking it for anything else but a barber’s, because the familiar red and white pole was visibly evident, sticking out into the road. As I got out of the car and locked the doors, I could feel my heart starting to beat quite fast, and the butterflies were building in my stomach. I noticed that the barbers was empty, which I was glad to see, because I don’t know whether I could have gone in if it had been full of people. Anyway, I crossed the road, and as the door was already open, I walked straight inside. By this time I was feeling really nervous, and was almost ready to make a run for it, but the female barber stopped me in my tracks. She was a young woman in her late twenties, with long dark brown hair, and piercing brown eyes. She smiled at me, and asked me to take a seat, and as I sat down in the big black barber’s chair, she took a red and white striped cape off a peg on the wall, and placed it around me, fastening it securely at the back of my neck. I looked at my reflection staring back at me from the mirror in front of me, and when the barber asked me how I wanted it, I knew that it was now or never. So gathering up all my courage, I told her what I had always wanted to have done, and then waited for her response.

She put her hands on my shoulders, smiled at me through the mirror, told me her name was Anne, and said that she understood exactly what I wanted. She then said that she would start off with a #4, and would go shorter only if I felt brave enough. It was a relief to hear that she understand what I was about to go through, and I was glad that she wasn’t going to buzz my head straight away, as it gave me the chance to change my mind if I didn’t like how it looked. Anyway, as she went to pick up the clippers, I took off my glasses and placed them on the counter in front of me. Then I clasped my hands to stop them from shaking, and placed them firmly in my lap. I could see the barber standing behind me in the mirror, the clippers in her right hand, and took one last look at my hair. She asked if I was ready, and as I nodded to signal I was, I heard a click, followed by the infamous buzzing sound of the clippers, which made my heart race, and my mouth go very dry. I thought that she might have started at the back of my neck, or perhaps that’s what I hoped, so that I could stop her if she was cutting it too short, but I think she sensed that, and didn’t want to give me the opportunity to change my mind, especially as she already had me sat in the chair in front of her. So, reaching forward, she pushed the hair back at my forehead and, placing the clippers on the hairline, pushed them slowly back across the top of my head. The feeling of the vibrating blades running over my head was simply breathtaking, and more wonderful than I had imagined, but the excitement of it distracted me from what was really happening, and it wasn’t until I looked in the mirror that I realized why it felt so good. Instead of using the #4 attachment as she said she would, the barber had simply taken the bare clippers straight to my head. As my reflection stared back at me, I was shocked to see a swathe of baldness running down the centre of my head. It was at that moment when a mixture of nerves and excitement started to get the better of me, and as the barber ran the clippers over my head for a second time, closely watched by my eyes in the mirror, I started to panic a little, and couldn’t stop myself from shaking. The barber seemed to sense that I was feeling very nervous, and as she put a reassuring hand on my left shoulder, she told me to relax and enjoy my clipper ride. After that, each subsequent pass became slower and certainly more sensual for me, and the more I was being shorn, the more comfortable and aroused I was becoming. Even the barber seemed to be enjoying it, she was obviously getting great pleasure out of shearing me as she expertly manoeuvred the clippers around my ears, quickly removing the hair from first one side of my head, and then the other. She then placed her hand firmly on top of my almost shaven head and pushed it forward, so that my chin was now resting firmly on my chest and my eyes were staring at a mass of hair piling up in my lap. I knew what was coming next, and the feelings inside me were getting so strong, that I thought I was going to explode, and explode is what I did when I felt the cold steel of the clippers on the back of my neck. The barber had obviously left the best until last, and the feelings as she pushed the clippers up my nape were incredible: so much so that I felt a huge shiver run down my spine. I was in heaven, and could no longer contain myself, as every pass of the clippers over my neck felt more sensuous than the last, and before too long, I reached orgasm.

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I couldn’t believe that a simple haircut could bring so much pleasure to a man, but then again, I was no ordinary man. My passion for hair, and hair cutting was all-consuming, and the ultimate pleasure for me had just been achieved. It was at that very moment, when the buzzing of the clippers finally stopped and, as the barber put them back down on the counter, I raised my head and looked at the reflection staring back from the mirror in front of me. The face looked familiar, but it was quite a surprise to see myself without any hair. The pale skin on my head shone under the bright lights of the barber’s shop and there was only the faintest hint of very, very short, dark stubble. I could see the barber smiling as she stood behind me and, as she ran a soft brush over my now shorn head, she asked me if I was happy with the result. Well I was more than happy with the experience, but I think the result would take a little getting used to, I told her. She laughed, and said that she liked it, and thought it looked good, which of course made me feel better. She then brushed the clipped hair away from my shoulders, and the back of my neck, and as I picked up my glasses and put them back on, she held up a mirror to show me the back of my head. It looked very different without hair, but felt wonderful as I ran my fingers up and down it, but it was strange to feel the warmth of my hand on my head, which felt quite cool without its protective covering of hair.

The barber unfastened the cape, and took it from around me. I got up out of the chair, and noticed all the hair on the floor around the chair. I was really surprised by how much there was, and as the barber took a broom and swept it to one side, I asked her how much I owed her. She said that she didn’t want any money, but that there was something else I could do for her instead. I was quite taken aback, but very intrigued, and told her that I would do anything. After all, she had just fulfilled my wildest dream, so the least I could do was help her with whatever she had in mind. As I stood in the centre of the shop, she walked over to the door, closed and locked it, put up the closed sign, and then pulled down the blind on the shop window. I was feeling a little nervous by now, as I hadn’t a clue what she was up to, but then it happened. She walked past me, sat in the barber’s chair, and told me that she wanted me to cut her hair. I couldn’t believe my ears, and had to ask her to repeat what she had said, but I wasn’t dreaming, she wanted to lose her hair, and she wanted me to do it for her.

At first I said that I couldn’t do it, after all, she had such beautiful hair, and although it had always been a fantasy of mine to cut a woman’s hair very short with clippers, it didn’t seem right. She was a strong-willed young woman though, and she wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so what could I do? Well, I could have just walked out, but I didn’t. I may be a gentleman, but I wasn’t going to miss the chance of a lifetime, especially as it was being handed to me on a plate. So I walked over to the chair, took the same cape that had been wrapped around me, and placed it around her. She held up her hair while I fastened the cape at the back of her neck, and then released it, where it fell in a dark cascade past her shoulders. Looking at her in the mirror, I asked if she was sure that this is what she wanted. She told me that it was what she had always wanted, and like me, had been too afraid to have it done, but that I had given her the courage, and inspiration, to go through with it. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Of all the places to meet a like-minded hair person; this was the last place I would have imagined. Anyway, here I was with this attractive young woman sat in front of me, and as I ran a comb through her long, thick, straight hair, I asked her how short she wanted to go. She said that it was my choice, which both surprised and excited me. I had to think for a minute, but then realized that I was in full control.

As I looked at her in the mirror, I could see the anxiety in her face, and knew that she was feeling very nervous, just as I had, but I think it must have been harder for her sat there waiting to be shorn. After all, she had a lot more hair to lose. It was at that point that I nearly changed my mind, it seemed a shame to cut such beautiful hair, but looking at her, I knew that she was feeling exactly as I had, and that if I didn’t do this for her now, then she would probably lose her nerve.

I walked around to the counter, picked up the clippers, and placed the #4 attachment over the blades. I could see that she was watching me, and so I clicked on the switch. She nearly jumped out of the chair as the clippers came to life, filling the barbershop with that wonderful buzzing sound. As I stood beside her, I could see that her eyes were now closed, in anticipation of the fate that was to befall her. I had never cut anyone’s hair before, and as I held the clippers in my hand, I couldn’t stop it from shaking, but I took a deep breath, composed myself, and then began. I pushed the long, silky, locks, away from the side of her face with my left hand and, placing the clippers at her cheek, pushed them up through her hair to her temple. The buzzing sound was replaced by a gentle hum as the blades quickly severed the thick, dark hair and, as I moved my hand away, it fell down on to the cape. I repositioned my hand, sweeping the hair away from her right ear and ran the clippers around it and back along the side of her head. More hair fell away, this time onto her shoulder, where it lay, so limp and lifeless. I then repositioned the clippers behind her right ear and drove them straight up her head, shearing away the remaining hair from that side. The once long tresses were now replaced by hair so short that it stood straight out from the side of her head. Walking around behind her, I placed my hand on the top of her head and slowly pushed it forward. As her head went down, exposing the nape of her neck, I could see that she had a very low hairline at the back, so I had to place the clippers low down on the side of her neck. The touch of the blades on her skin made her flinch and I could just imagine how she was feeling, as I pushed those wonderful clippers slowly up through her hair and right the way up her head to the crown. She seemed to settle down in the chair in front of me, a sign that she was starting to relax and enjoy the feel of the clippers. I wondered what she was thinking, as if I didn’t know, because I was getting really turned on and couldn’t wait to shave her nape bare. I repositioned the clippers next to the first cut and drove them back up through her hair again. They were very hungry and made light work of cutting away the rest of the thick, silky hair from the back of her neck and head, which slid down the cape before falling heavily away on its journey to the cold barbershop floor. I took my hand from her head and ran it over the short hair at the back, just to make sure that it had all been evenly cut. As I did so, she lifted her head, and pressed it against my hand, moaning with pleasure, and as my fingers caressed her neck, I could tell that this haircut was really getting to both of us. Moving quickly round to her left side, I was now working the clippers like a true professional, and within minutes she was well on her way to being totally shorn. As I looked at her in the mirror, I could see that her eyes were still firmly closed so, leaning forward, I placed the buzzing clippers on her forehead and gently pushed them back along the top of her head, sending a shower of long, severed hair falling to the floor. I repositioned the clippers next to the last cut, and did the same thing again, and after just four passes, all the remaining long hair had gone.

Opening her eyes, Anne sat there looking quite astonished as she saw the impact of the ultra short crop for the first time. She couldn’t believe how different she now looked, and removing her right hand from under the cape, she ran her fingers over her newly shorn head, turning it from side to side, so as to take in the whole effect. A huge smile lit up her face, as her hand ran backwards and forwards over the bristly short hair that now lay there, and up the back of her neck. The liberation she always dreamed of was almost complete, and she was highly delighted by the transformation that had taken place. I too was quite surprised, and of course, highly delighted, as nothing before had given me so much pleasure. I thought that she had looked good before her haircut, but looking at her now, she looked even more beautiful. She really suited having her hair this short, and her pretty face looked perfect without all that long hair. I hadn’t quite finished the haircut though, and as I stood behind her, I removed the attachment from the clipper blades. I told her that I was just going to tidy it up at the back and as I placed my left hand on the top of her head, she sensed what I was going to do next and bowed her head without any effort from me. I placed the bare blades of the clippers on the hairline, and slowly pushed them up through the short, bristly hair. Even though her hair was so short, I was surprised by how much was being cut, and there was a marked difference between the short, and now almost shaven, areas up the back of her neck. I wasn’t sure what she would think of this, but I soon found out, as she told me how wonderful it felt, and could I do it again, only this time more slowly. I couldn’t resist, after all, I was at long last fulfilling my greatest fantasy, and as I shaved all the hair from her neck, I just thought how wonderful it looked. Moving slowly from side to side, I tidied up the haircut around her ears with the now upturned clippers, before switching them off. I then placed them on the counter in front of her, and picked up the hand mirror, so that I could show her how it looked from behind, and was glad to see that she was delighted with the result. I then brushed the loose hair away from her neck and shoulders, and unfastened the cape. She couldn’t wait to run her hands over her head again, and especially her newly shaven nape. As she did, she stood up from the chair, and admired herself in the mirror. I couldn’t believe the amount of hair that lay all around the base of the chair. It looked so beautiful, even lying on the barbershop floor, and it was hard to imagine how only minutes ago, it had been this woman’s cover, her camouflage to hide behind, but now it was gone, cast aside like an unwanted skin, while its owner had been reinvented, transformed by those magical clippers. I gathered up the long, scattered tresses and, holding them tightly in my hand, showed them to her. She held out her hand, and gently touched the soft, silky hair. As she did so, a tear ran lightly down her cheek, as she remembered how much time she had devoted to it not so long ago, but after a few minutes of reminiscing, she told me to throw it in the bin, which I duly did. She then kissed me on the cheek, and thanked me for the making this moment in time such a magical one. I thanked her in return for making my wish, and my fantasy, come true, but also for letting me share this experience with her. I then told her my name, and holding her closely, kissed her passionately on the lips. She didn’t push me away, but responded with so much passion that once again, my sexual desires were stimulated. We became oblivious to both time and our surroundings as we made mad, passionate love there in that barber’s shop, the very same place that had freed us both from our years of sexual torment – and our hair.


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